


Words Of Love

by LokianaWinchester



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Let it be sessions, M/M, Sadness, Songfic, a bit short on the comfort tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 07:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15237996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokianaWinchester/pseuds/LokianaWinchester
Summary: A brief moment of McLennon during the Let It Be sessions.





	Words Of Love

Paul was sitting on the couch in the studio, fiddling around on a guitar, while being miles away with his thoughts, or rather years away. It was getting dark outside and he barely saw anything in the unlit room, but he did not have to. It was comfortable like this.

He was left thinking about their past. So much had changed over the years; they had experienced so much, they had grown so much as people. But after years of growing together, recently they had also grown apart. Individually, he was still close to the others, but they had started falling apart as a group years ago. It made him sad to think about it, but it was the truth. It was just not like it used to be.

The most had changed between John and him. Paul wished he could just go back to how it had been. To the love they had had. It was lost now, he knew deep down, but he could not bring himself to accept it, really. Sometimes he thought he was over it, no spite in his heart, no hard feelings, just a comfortable sense of numbness. It had to mean he was over John and over his own feelings. But then John would smile at him, from behind all that hair he was sporting now and Paul recognised it. They knew each other almost twelve years now and Paul just knew John, maybe better than anybody else; most likely better than anybody else.  He knew this grin, had seen it too often not to be affected by it. He had been under its spell far too often for that, and so he found himself relapsing countless times, delving into memories of lips against lips, of hands roaming and of soft words.

Sometimes he wondered if those memories were real. Sometimes he was not sure if that had been John, it was not like him at all. Maybe the memories had become distorted over time. Or maybe John had changed.

It hurt, no matter how he chose to view it, because John was not his anymore and it was not even like he had been for long. Then again, John had likely been Paul’s for longer than he knew. Realistically he had been Paul’s for years before he realised it; this was the real reason for his regret. But then Paul had lost him before he knew what he had, a disturbing pattern. Change had come slowly and John had gradually become more distant. It had broken Paul’s heart not all at once, but slowly bent it before it eventually snapped.

Paul started tapping his foot along to the melody he was playing. The resulting atmosphere was eerie, but it completely fit his mood. Paul’s heart was still breaking. He wanted to cry, but his eyes were dry. His throat was aching with unheard sobs, which he forced away, trying to retain some composure.

When he heard the footsteps approaching, he took a deep breath. There was nobody he was willing to show this vulnerability to.

“Paul?”

Paul swallowed, stopped his movements. The last chord echoed dimly through the room.

“Yeah?” he replied. His voice was surprisingly stable.

“Mind if I join ya?” John asked.

Paul was aware of what the answer should be, but he also knew he was going to disappoint himself.

“Come ’ere,” he said. He watched as John made his way over to him.

John sat down next to him. Up close, Paul saw his face clearly despite the darkness.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asked, when John made no attempt to speak.

“Wanted to see you,” John said. Their eyes met and Paul felt weak. He had no power in this situation.

“Why?” he uttered, clinging to the guitar as if it could help him.

“I miss you, Paulie.”

Paulie.

It was tender, the way John pronounced it. Not teasing, no bad intentions hidden in it. There was honesty in this name.

Paul took a shivering breath.

“I see.” He did not know what else to say.

John continued to look at him intensely before getting up. Paul was not sure if he was going to leave again. It would really not be unlike John to do so, but John got himself another guitar and began playing. A melody filled the room, building up to something Paul was familiar with as John fumbled with the chords until he had them. Until he really began playing.

And then he sang.

“Hold me close and tell me how you feel.”

Paul was aching. This was exactly what John was always doing. Winding him up, only to let him snap again.

Internally he cursed at himself. He should have pretended to be packing up and leaving when John came.

“Tell me love is real.”

John’s voice was different now than it had been back then. But it was still so much the same that it hurt beyond measure. Paul was sure John did not need him to talk about his feelings. He already knew them.

The hummed melody lacked something. He realised it was his own voice, but he could barely breathe. How was he supposed to sing?

“Words of Love you whisper soft and true.” Paul closed his eyes, then opened them a moment later, unreasonably afraid he would miss something.

“Darling, I love you.” John was moving closer to him. Paul was just sitting there, petrified.

It was just a song and somehow John made it all sound so genuine, so loving.

“Let me hear you say the words I long to hear,” John sang. His voice was low, he did not put much pressure into his singing. It was intimate, too intimate.

“Darling, when you’re near.”

It was becoming more and more difficult to resist the urge to sing along. The notes were deeply engraved in his muscle memory from years ago.

“Words of Love you whisper soft and true.” John was standing in front of him and all Paul could do was stare as he sank down to kneel, their eyes on one level now.

“Paulie, I love you.”

“Stop,” he said. John did not listen, so he repeated himself.

“Stop it. Why are you doing this?”

John let the last chord ring out before he answered.

“What?”

Paul did not understand how John could be that daft, how he could frustrate Paul to this extent.

“Leave me hangin’ for years and then come here tryin’ to what? Serenade me?”

“I’m sorry.”

Paul had been prepared for anything except this. He had been prepared for a witty response, for an excuse, snark, sass. Because that was John and this was something else.

“I mean it, and I do love you, Paulie.” Paul returned to just staring at him.

John set his guitar aside and leaned in towards the younger man.

“No,” escaped his lips. Paul was not even sure if it was denial he felt, if the no stemmed from a desperate try to save himself from more pain, or to stop John from moving any closer.

John’s hands settled on his thighs and at once Paul melted. Nobody else held this much power over him.

“Believe me,” John murmured. “Please.”

Paul was tempted to, so tempted. He smiled sadly.

John leaned in to kiss him. The sensation was a strange mixture of achingly familiar and excitingly new. Paul kissed him back, trying to hold on to the moment like a life-line.

When they broke apart, John brought one hand up to cup Paul’s face, stroking over his bearded cheek before pulling back entirely.

“One day, Paul,” he said.

 _What?_ He wanted to say. _One day what?_

But John was standing already, walking in quick strides out of the studio through the door, out into the night. All Paul had left was a sense of doubt about everything he had thought he knew, but mostly if that had really just happened. He had that… and the distant echo in his mind, of John singing to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading; if you liked it, feel free to leave kudos and/or comments <3


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